


Love and Hate

by Severina



Category: Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Community: tv-universe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-15
Updated: 2013-11-15
Packaged: 2018-01-01 15:48:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1045686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Severina/pseuds/Severina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for this prompt - "I'd rather be hated for who I am than loved for who I'm not." (Kurt Cobain)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love and Hate

**Author's Note:**

> Pre-Series. As always, Merle is a racist and his views are not mine.
> 
> * * *

"Look at 'em," Merle says, "runnin' around like worker bees just 'cause King Shit over there tells 'em to jump."

Daryl glances up, eyes flitting over the camp. Watches the cop's woman and her boy sorting through the canned goods the Asian kid brought in yesterday; the blondes gathering up laundry. Some dude with a beard struggling with a knife, trying to sharpen a branch into a rudimentary spear. Daryl could've told him that he'd picked the wrong kind of wood – one thrust with that and the thing'll splinter right down the middle, and then you got a walker on top of you and the fat lady'll start singing – but it ain't his business. Not like anybody's asked him his opinion on the matter.

The cop – Shane – stands over it all, directing all the hustle and bustle.

Daryl shrugs. "They're just tryin' to get by. Just like everybody else."

"Yeah? You gonna hop up and do whatever that cop says, now? Maybe give him a little salute while you're at it?"

"Never said that," Daryl grunts out. He turns back to the bow, runs a thumb along the string to check the tension. And carefully doesn't mention that he's already made a run down to the lake, hauled up two containers of water and set them to boil for the group, all while Merle was still sawin' logs in their tent.

Ain't like everybody don't need it, including them, and Merle don't need to know that he'd have done it even if the old man with the stupid hat hadn't ask him to.

He scowls when Merle nudges his shoulder, looks up to find his brother pointing toward Morales digging out a new firepit. "Bet that spic ain't worked this hard since he was doin' the gardening for some fat white suburban bitch."

"Keep your voice down!"

"Why?" Merle asks. "Tell you what, little brother. I'd rather be hated for who I am than loved for who I'm not."

"We gotta get along with these people, all right? Just keep your damn mouth shut!"

"Yeah, we gotta get along with them," Merle says, leaning forward and taking a swig of his beer, "until we clean 'em out. Or have you forgotten that part of the plan?"

"I ain't forgot," Daryl says. He pushes himself to his feet, slings the bow over his shoulder. "Ain't forgot we need to eat, neither. Goin' to get something for the pot."

"Make sure you bring enough to share with the damn rubes," Merle sneers out. "Don't want none of the city folk to go hungry, now."

Daryl stalks away with Merle's laughter in his ears, glares at some little girl who wanders into his path until she pales and darts away to hide behind her mama's legs. He pushes angrily through the bushes at the tree line, keeps going until he is well beyond the camp, until the only sound is his own harsh breathing and the birdsong.

He leans against a tree, rubs a hand distractedly along the rough bark. Hangs his head and watches a beetle trundle determinedly over a fallen leaf.

The thing is... Merle's right. These people are just rubes, practically lining up for the slaughter. The dude with the spear will just get himself killed, him and anybody else he's trying to protect when the damn thing breaks in half. Shane and his woman can gather up as many wild mushrooms and berries as they can carry – when they're actually gathering food, that is, and not just sneaking off so they can feel each other up like a couple of teenagers – and it's still not going to be enough to keep everyone fed. The old woman with the grey hair is still doing ironing, for fucks sake! They're all treating this like it's some kind of extended camping adventure instead of realizing it's the end of the goddamn world.

They deserve whatever they get. They deserve to get taken.

Except the old man keeps telling stories around the fire every night that make him laugh, and then make him think. Except he sometimes sees Shane's woman stroking her son's hair and watching Shane when the cop ain't looking, and what he sees in her eyes ain't love but something darker, something tinged with fear. Except he kinda likes the little girl, Sophia, who keeps creeping up to his tent to watch him skinnin' the squirrels and then runs away with a squeal when he glares at her.

Daryl pushes off from the tree, shakes his head. All of 'em are just dead weight, no skills to bring to the damn table. None at all.

And he's gonna have to tell Merle that he ain't gonna go through with the plan to rob 'em blind. He just likes them too damn much.


End file.
